Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. Hang the wench! Roding was right. Sheppard, somewhat alarmed by this preamble. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back. He could not kiss Ruth.
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